


I could just grab you (by the nape of your neck)

by planetofthehats



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Episode s08e07, M/M, Season/Series 08, Showers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetofthehats/pseuds/planetofthehats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is back from Purgatory, weaker but alive. Dean helps him get clean again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I could just grab you (by the nape of your neck)

Dean stood frozen in the motel room, staring at the half open bathroom door. Castiel didn’t even know to keep it closed. He heard running water and shuffling feet. He itched to have the angel in his line of sight again. Purgatory-bred reflexes died hard, and he’d grown used to traveling close enough to Cas that he could always reach out and haul him away from danger. Privacy had been non-existent in that nightmare realm. Being out of sight could literally get you killed.

He spared a quick glance back at Sam, nodding towards the bathroom and making a questioning noise. Sam gave his little half-smile and nodded, brow still creased in confusion, concern. Dean had his own worries about how Castiel had come back to the world. But he let them fall to the side, overridden by concern for the angel himself. He had been so weak in Purgatory. He’d had so little of his power left. It was a miracle he’d survived at all, let alone made it out.

He slipped into the bathroom, closing the door gently behind him and leaning back against it. Once the door was shut the close air of the small room filled quickly with the stench of Purgatory. Blood and dirt and rotting loam. For a moment the smell was like a living thing, pressing on Dean from all sides, making him clutch at the door handle. The cool metal reminded him where he was, and he blinked away the thick memories that clouded his eyes for a moment, focusing on Castiel and reminding himself again that he had made it out alive.

Castiel’s coat was draped carefully across the toilet seat, freshly cleaned and restored. He had removed his faded hospital shirt and vanished it elsewhere. He was leaning against the tiled wall between the shower and the sink, facing away from Dean. The mirror to his right reflecting their images back into Dean’s peripheral vision was oddly reassuring. He could see Castiel twice, it wasn’t a trick. There was a smear of dirt under Castiel’s hand on the tiled wall, caked flecks of it scattered around his shoes. He was really here. Pale and shaking slightly against the wall but here. Dean’s stomach lurched as he counted the knobs of Castiel’s spine, standing out from the angel’s filthy skin as he bent forward to hold his hand under the spraying water from the shower head. Castiel twisted his hand and the hot water knob turned on the wall, steam starting to rise in the bathroom.

“Strange. I had forgotten how pleasant it was for this body to feel warm.”

Dean swallowed, eyes trained on Castiel like if he looked away he’d disappear. If he could keep his eyes on him it would be alright.

“Yeah.” He said, his voice rough. “Cas are you…I mean it was brutal down there how…are you ok?”

Castiel turned his head, leaning his temple on the wall and looking over his shoulder at Dean. “I am here.” He said, as though that were enough of an answer. Then tipped his head to the side and considered. “If weaker than before.”

Dean nodded, then realized the room was filling with steam and Castiel wasn’t making a move to get in the shower.

“Do you want me to leave so you can get clean?”

“If you like. I’m just taking a moment before I get in. It’s difficult to do things too quickly.”

Dean chewed on his lower lip, indecision writ large on his face. He looked over Cas’s body, watched it shake slightly with the effort of standing. He squared his shoulders and nodded once.

“Hold on a sec.”

He gathered Castiel’s coat from the toilet seat and hung it from the hooks on the door, adding his dark blue shirt to the hook so he was just in his t-shirt. He slipped a hand around Castiel’s back, palm flat and solid against clammy skin, and guided him to the toilet seat to sit down.

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel gripped Dean’s arm when he sat down, staring up at him, unblinking. Dean swallowed again and nodded, smiling just a little, to reassure them both. He knelt in front of the bath tub and switched the water over to the faucet, plugging the drain to let the bathtub fill with hot water. He dumped a packet of body wash into the water from the basket of hotel toiletries, figuring it couldn’t hurt to add extra cleaning power to the water. He’d had to scrub for hours to get himself clean when he’d first gotten back from Purgatory. He assumed Castiel would be the same. His own hands had a light layer of filth on them from where he’d touched Castiel only a moment ago.

He shuffled around on his knees, bending to take off Castiel’s shoes and socks. As soon as he’d let them drop to the floor they vanished, with a soft exhale from Castiel. Dean looked at the empty space on the ground where the last sock disappeared from, then raised an eyebrow at Cas.

“I don’t need them anymore.”

Dean nodded, feeling the rightness of it secondhand. Before Purgatory the clothes of the mental ward had been a costume, a comfort, a guard against the angel Castiel had been before, when he’d made colossal mistakes Dean knew he still grieved over. Like Dean still twisted internally in agony when he remembered his role in the Apocalypse as the Righteous Man. Like Sam still gritted his teeth and fought against sliding back into the person who had broken the final seal. Dean stood up and wrapped an arm around Castiel’s chest, helping him stand and pull off the baggy blue pants, stepping out of them to have them disappear once he was free. He helped Castiel across the small bathroom, gripping him tightly as he stepped into the bath, easing him down into the steaming water as gently as he could.

Castiel sighed, his eyes sliding closed as the heat enveloped his legs. The tub was half full, and the water just covered his hips. Even after only a second the surface of it was shining with muck coming loose from his skin. Dean grabbed a towel and rolled it up against the edge of the tub for him to kneel on, bringing a stack of washcloths with him and resting it on the side of the tub. Instead of starting to help Castiel scrub himself clean right away, he let the water fill the tub slowly, resting his arm on the edge and reaching out with the other to take hold of Castiel’s knee.

He stayed there, perfectly still, watching Castiel closely. Castiel looked back, holding his gaze, blue eyes steady and sure. Dean didn't yet know how to say how he felt, didn't know if Castiel blamed him for being left behind. He didn't know how to ask forgiveness for it. Didn't even know if he should. He'd tried hadn't he? He'd killed literally hundreds of monsters to haul Castiel out of Purgatory behind him. He would have killed thousands if it had meant he would be successful. He was just about open his mouth to say so when Castiel laid a hand over his, tightening his fingers gently. Dean closed his mouth and smiled, his eyes tight. Another time. Not now. Now he could just be grateful, could just help.

He shut off the faucet, the water almost up the edge of the tub now. The sudden silence in the bathroom let Dean hear how loud and quick his breathing was, and he worked to calm it intentionally. He cracked open the packaging on the motel soap and wet the first washcloth from his stack, starting the work of cleaning Castiel of Purgatory. He started with his legs, where his hand had rested, hands moving long, thorough circles across Castiel's skin, wincing when he cleaned off a trail of blood even though he knew he would find no wound underneath it. Every patch of skin he exposed that was fresh and whole soothed him further, made Castiel seem more solid beneath his hands.

Dean didn’t speak much, even though there was so much to say, to explain, to question, to beg forgiveness for. Castiel only spoke to say ‘thank you’ every now and then, resting a wet hand on Dean’s wrist as he reached forward to swipe the washcloth across his chest again, leaning his forehead against Dean’s shoulder when he tipped him forward to scrub at his back. Dean emptied the bath three times when the water got too cloudy with dirt and blood to see through, filling it up again with hot water as quickly as he was able, hating to see how Castiel actually shivered with the cold.

At first Dean only touched Castiel where he had to, hands sure and clinical, careful not to press too hard. After the second time he refilled the bath his touch was lingering more, curling a hand around the side of Castiel’s neck to feel his pulse against his thumb, holding him closer than he needed to reach every smear of dirt on his body. His breathing evened out the longer he kept in contact with Castiel, grew deeper. The small pit of anxiety in his stomach eased as Castiel’s body warmed in the water, under his hands. He was here and he hadn’t disappeared. He was here and Dean was beginning to be able to smell the sharp masculine scent of him, the reek of Purgatory fading further with every swipe of the washcloths.

He went through the entire stack, tossing each one away when it was too grimey to do anymore good. He never ran out of them, though. A clean one appeared on the edge of the tub whenever he reached for one, and each time Castiel smiled up at him slightly. Sometimes Dean even managed to smile back.

The front of Dean’s shirt was wet and stank of Purgatory, and when he emptied the tub for the third time he stood up, dragging his hand across Castiel’s shoulder as he backed away. He kept eye contact with Castiel as he pulled off the shirt, kicking off his boots and pushing his way out of his jeans. He turned the water back on, leaving the bath unplugged and turning up the hot water. He reached down to help Castiel stand, then stepped into the shower in front of him, flicking the water over to the shower head. The spray of water hit him in the back, and he shifted to the side to let it run over Castiel’s face. He sputtered and closed his eyes against the water, making Dean laugh just a little. Just enough. He washed Castiel’s hair, the water taking ages to work through the layers of crusted dirt to his scalp, the dark hair thick between Dean’s fingers. Castiel closed his eyes, leaning into Dean’s, his arms resting on his chest. Dean rinsed Castiel’s hair until the water ran clear underneath it, then reached for one final washcloth to scrub at Castiel’s face and neck. He laughed again at Castiel’s annoyed look, batting away his half-hearted attempt to make Dean stop.

Finally his angel was clean. The smell of Purgatory was gone, the stretches of pale skin shone wetly in the weak light of the motel bathroom. Dean sighed once, loudly, and wrapped his arms around Castiel’s chest. He pressed his nose into Castiel’s neck, closing his eyes just to smell his angel. Alive and standing in his arms. Warm and clean and _here_. Castiel’s hands came up to circle his back, and he opened his mouth against Dean’s chest, tasting the skin above his heart, just as relieved to feel his human heart beating again so close to him. The soft brush of Castiel's beard was a strange sensation, and every now and then it make Dean smile a little wider.

They stood there until the water should have gone cold around them, no way the motel hot water heater was this big. Dean lifted his head and looked into Castiel’s face, almost no space between them. He dragged a hand through Castiel’s hair, smiling and looking up at the shower head, the question clear on his face, at least to Castiel. The angel shrugged.

“It was no trouble.”

“You didn’t need this much help cleaning up, did you?”

“Not physically, no.”

Dean smiled, hearing the answer unspoken, feeling the good it had done them both to run their hands over each other, to feel for themselves the truth of what happened to them, what they had somehow managed to escape from. He slipped his hand to the back of Castiel’s head and bent forward just slightly, just enough, pressing their lips together for a kiss long overdue. Castiel pressed up into him, softening his body to fit it just so against Dean’s, moving his lips the way Dean had taught him, a deep, quiet sigh escaping him.

There had been plenty of times they had reunited after almost dying, one or both of them. This wasn’t the first time they had been driven to touch and hold just to prove everything was alright again. But this time there wasn’t any desperation, wasn’t any lingering fear. There was just this moment of complete contentment, of gratefulness, of love. Castiel had never said so to Dean, but at moments like this he always felt he and Dean were making a prayer of their bodies. This time as they pressed flesh to flesh he chanted to his Father over and over _thank you thank you thank you thank you._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure lots of people are doing scenes like this after the episode, but I just couldn't help myself. I needed to write some happy Destiel fluff!
> 
> (title is from 'Dear Avery' by the Decemberists)


End file.
